


Bones

by FasterPuddyTat



Series: Gall, Vitriol, and Wine: An Incomplete History [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Poetry, Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), can't stop won't stop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FasterPuddyTat/pseuds/FasterPuddyTat
Summary: Slip of floofy poetry inspired by one of my lines from Everything.Varric reminisces over his past loves, trying to make sense of this one.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Series: Gall, Vitriol, and Wine: An Incomplete History [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617364
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I keep writing poetry. I'm like, noooot really a poet, and yet. Some works just, call for a different medium!

The pulse leaps fresh  
Unread and misunderstood because  
The last time was the first.  
Was it the first?

Three and she wipes a tear, lined lips pressed  
To the torn flesh. All better.  
Twelve and she is freckled,  
Red hair in girlish braids streaming.  
He’s too slow, she flies  
And he cannot reach.  
Sixteen and he is sketching, she  
Lies dark hair tangled in rumpled sheets and pretends  
To sleep.  
Nineteen,  
No, best not.  
Twenty-five and she is the North star, no  
Twenty-five and she is his blood sense returned  
As the other she, the first she, withers.  
She is brilliant and consuming in his darkness and he wants to consume  
As she wants.  
Until she cannot.

Thirty and the pulse leaps fresh.  
She is long and lean and deadly, unlike and alone.  
She calls him by secret names and they speak a shared tongue,  
Wry asides and grinning eyes  
To hide.  
He would do anything to find her.  
Return to the stone in the dark that was never home,  
Prod the rubble, rattle the bones.

Thirty-one and he pulls the mask to find another—  
Broken, misused.  
He presses on the edges with a light he’d forgotten and ah,  
Through the rents and missing feathers finds her.  
He does not pull again.  
She fills his hollows and curls around his bones.  
His hands cover hers,  
Angles and planes aligned  
Struck at the same forge, a matching set.  
He traces the boundary of mask and flesh and remembers

the press  
of her chest  
on his back  
in the deep

And his arms are a cocoon  
And her breath is a tether  
And his back is strong enough for two.  
It always was.

Thirty-one and the pulse leaps fresh.  
He reads it, holds it up to the light of the sun.  
It is the first time.


End file.
